


Here in The Shallowdeeps

by Lizzard (Myrmekitic)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bloodplay, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Tentabulges, Universitystuck AU, Where humans and trolls live together on Earth, where fef and jade are forced to beat a hasty retreat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrmekitic/pseuds/Lizzard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then, of course, there wasn’t a small crowd gathered together whooping and catcalling at you while you knead into Jade’s sweater, making her gasp, and consciously lower the noise into a snarl. Her hair smells slightly of dog, and you hate it, hate it, hate it, hate every last inch of this girl. The only thing to do is take her up to your respitesuite and fuck her senseless and untidy on every piece of furniture you poses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here in The Shallowdeeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ekaterina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekaterina/gifts).



> Here we go, the first fic of any sort of length that I've written in way, way too long. My submission for the 2012 Ladystuck fic exchange, written on a lot of tea and an incredibly excessive amount of christmas cookies. I hope you enjoy your gift, and that this is the sort of blackrom you were looking for! <3

She’s all straight lines and military precision with everything she does, from the way she sets her pens, all regulation black, on her desk for note taking in class, to her nails. They’re perfectly filed to near nubs, with one careful coat of clear polish to protect them. Sometimes if she’s feeling daring, they’re the same green as her eyes, matched just as carefully as she does everything else. It’s no wonder you hate her. 

She’s the polar opposite of you, of everything that you do and are, slick swirls and random movements, claws chewed off so they won’t snag on your nets, tentacles swirling in the bright moonlight. Everything that you are is a creature of the deep, harsh angles and delicate frills, deadly as a bullet to the brainstem, just as the Condesce wants. Her own hand-picked successor.

You roll in different circles at university, the only real connection her cousin. His name is John, and he’s barely a five months younger than her, though he’s a senior, and she’s a sophomore with you. She spent two years traveling the world with her grandfather, tight-packed suitcases with the bare minimum, and it shows in the way she does everything. She bears her cousin no grudge, but they’re not particularly close, so it isn’t until you start to spend time alone with the blue eyed wonder that’s dual majoring in marine biology and music that she even bothers to contact you.

GG: stay away from my cousin  
CC: W)(o t)(e s)(ell are you, and w)(y do you care?  
GG: oh right miss fishy pun fincess  
GG: like you don't know!!  
GG: i'm talking about john!  
CC: O)(, so you're t)(at scrod damned Jade beac)( from my finglis)( class?  
GG: look just stay away from john  
GG: if you get your gross fishy hands on him i personally assure you right the hell now that i will rip you into chum  
CC: )(e's a big buoy, )(e can s)(ore as s)(ell take care of )(ims)(ellf, and )(e doesn't need )(is gillfrond sticking )(er dry )(uman nook into )(is buisfis)(.

It’s only when she blocks you that you realize you’ve been typing one handed, hunched over your laptop on your desk in the marina building, baring your bristling teeth and snarling low in the back of your throat while one hand palms hard over your half unsheathed bulge through the thin black material of your swimsuit. It takes a lot of brain power to slam the laptop closed, too hard, you’ll be lucky if the screen hasn’t cracked, and there’s far too much research data on there to have to start from scratch. Another reason to hate Jade Harley, buck teeth and swirls of dark chocolate hair restrained tightly by a hair elastic, hair that needs your fingers in it, needs to be pulled from the root, free and flowing. 

Quickly you stand and march out of your cupboard of an office, and out the door, into the midnight air. It’s freezing, or would be to a human, but to you the breeze is warm, the caress of the shifting pressure sweet against the sensitive frills along your ears and sides as you slide out of your wrap and into the waiting embrace of the water. It’s chill and sweet against you as the water drags you down to the bottom of the bay, where years of pollutants have made a thick sludge that hurts terribly to suck through your gills, almost as bad as the chlorinated water up at the school’s pool. It hardly matters, though, as you twist and writhe through the water, skimming just along the bottom and glubbing hello to the lazy fat fishes that you flash past. 

The bay is too close and claustrophobic, engines chugging loud even at night, but once you’re out into open water, the ocean’s alive and waiting, arms open to embrace you with every turn and swirl you make, hair clouding up around you in massive waves, played with by every current and tide. It’s enough to just drift, look up through the dark water and see the beasts and plants above and below you. 

It’s quiet in the shallowdeeps, aurals filled with water and near useless as a sense, and you can feel the tug of the currents and the electricity produced instinctively. There’s nothing near, not now, you’re safe, nearly the same temperature as the soft, sweet waters that hold you in their thrall, and for once, you can think, really think without having to deal with the harsh, noisy intrusions of life above the water.

Jade. She’s a conundrum and a half, and by the way her replies flashed to you as soon as you looked away from the screen, she was as black for you as it was possible for a human to be.

The thought was thrilling,

Nobody would allow you to have a human kismesis, let alone one that was so vehemently anti-Crockercorp. Sometimes it felt like everything she did, every move she made, was fighting against the empire the Condesce had built, fighting against you, and the thought was mad and wonderful. She would be so fantastic beneath your claws, writhing and going limp. It would be so wonderful to wreck her, to leave her begging you for mercy, the harsh line of her mouth gone soft with need, pretty rust red human blood on your lips and royal tyrian on hers. 

The way she typed…

The way that her horrendous buck teeth would feel against your skin, too smooth and sweet to really do true damage, flat and omnivorous, so unlike your own that are half moray and half great white. She’d have no defense if you were to shove your bulge down her throat, she’d have no choice but to choke on it.

It’s easy to slip off the bottoms of your bathing suit underwater, freeing your bulge to curl longingly against your thigh. The top quickly follows, and both are bundled and tied carefully together around your waist. Not the most streamlined way to move through the water, but the hunger and need building in your gut and making your bulge flush was becoming unignorable. There’s no fear of being interrupted down here, there aren’t that many seadwelling trolls in the world, and most of them would rather avoid the corroding salt spray and the way the waves take your soul.

You’re alone, and nobody’s around for ages, and the sneer that mush have been on Jade Harley’s face echoes clear and sharp through your mind, beautiful thin lips curled into a sneer as her fingernails dig into your thigh and she grasps your bulge, pulling along it rough and hard, and this is so easy. Laying back in the water, letting the currents take you where they will, and letting your bulge curl around your fingers as your run your hand down the length of it, again and again, just like how Jade would, how you imagine she would. A harsh, keening glub echoes from your lips, nothing more than bubbles and muffled noise as you hook two fingers into your nook.

The thing about getting yourself off underwater was that you could move in any direction you wanted, and the water would support you, hold you in the cradle of its arms. It allowed for the perfect reach around, fingers plunging and twisting inside your nook while your palm is slick against your palm and you wonder, helplessly, how Jade would sound and look as she came, and with a final stream of bubbles from your lips, that was it, tyrian purple genetic material swirling thick in the water around you as water rushes past gills whose filaments can’t seem to diffuse enough oxygen from it.

A few swift kicks, and the mess is gone, replaced by clear water. Watch sopor slime do that in one cleaning cycle. There are undersexed kids you know that have permanently stained slime, the poor dears. Even the awkward angles of a shower stall are better than the potential embarrassment of stained slime at your age, though when the opportunity of the ocean is there, there’s no replacing it.

Before breaching the surface at the marina, you slip your black bikini back on, and snag a lazy, fat fish that’s been too smart to avoid the lures of fishermen for a snack. It may have been smart enough to avoid a lure, but Feferi Peixes, terror of the deep, and troll on a mission to fill her belly with fish fresher than from any seafood market is an entire matter entirely. 

You snack on the smooth crisp flesh as you pad your way from the docks back into the main building, barefoot and dripping. The fish’s flesh is sweet and delicious, fresh blood that floods into your mouth, and the divine texture of fine scales and skin beneath your teeth. The humans miss most of the best parts of fish when they pull them from the water. As you munch, thoughts churn through your mind, and not just about the superiority of freshly caught fish.

No, if Jade Harley wants to make caliginous advances at you, narrow her eyes at you, and look in general like she’s smelled something extremely nasty whenever you stroll into a room, she’ll be met full force with a wall of pitch black fury.

 

John Egbert has the softest hands in the universe, and they’re currently brushing at tines of your ears while you rest your head on his thighs, and gesticulate a little with long hands. He laughs at each word you say, though that’s basically his default state of being. He laughs at everything everyone says, and even though this feels disgustingly, dangerously pale, and you have a moirail, no matter how often he ignores your problems for his, and it feels nice. 

“And then she goes storming into the main hall, claiming that she’s the new Empress! Meanwhile, Mother was sitting on her throne, puffed up like a fugu fish, her face about as tyrian as I’ve ever seen it, and I grew up with the woman. So this troll, drunk off her ass, and wearing the Empress’s own drapes, and standing all of five feet tall stands there squeaking. Squeaking! And the Condesce stands up like this giant hair monster, and she’s like ‘Shell no you di’int!’ and she--”

“Up. Now.” 

You tilt your head back, and none other than Jade Harley is standing beside her younger cousin, who laughs and tells her to ‘calm her jets’ and goes back to making a messy little braid in your hair. The look in Jade’s eyes is no joke, though.

“I’d love to vacate my spot, but you see, I seem to have gained this wonderfully warm growth.” The smile that you shoot back up at her is nothing but malice and teeth for miles, mouth spread ferociously wide. To any other human it may look like an especially big smile, but she’s practically Karkat’s auspistice. She knows caliginous signals when she sees them, and she shows it, a harsh and ruddy blush rising in her cheeks as the flat line of her mouth purses even more. 

You give her a little wave.

She pokes your shoulder, though she’s probably got at least one handgun and one knife concealed on her person. 

“I’ll give you until the count of three to get off of my cousin,” she says, hands fling to her hips.

“Well, I’m certainly glubbing terrified!”

“One…”

“I need my moirail!”

“Two…”

“I need a weapon!”

“Three!” she tumbles you easily from John’s lap, and you’re on your feet in a second. The one thing that’s been reiterated time and time again is that if you’re in a fight, being on the ground is the last place to be.

“Hey!” John cries, standing up as if for your protection. Sweet, but not nearly the sort of attention that you crave right now. Instead you lay your palm on his chest, and tap him with one claw, eyes locked on Jade Harley’s.

“This isn’t your fight, and it’s not your problem, either.”

“Excuse me, you can’t talk to my baby cousin that way!” Jade is standing on the balls of her feet, back straight, as though she wanted to make herself feel bigger. It’ll never work, not when you’re six foot one before horns, and she barely comes up to your collarbones. You dwarf her, and you’re not yet done growing. You’ll be growing for a long time yet.

“Hey, I’m only four months younger than you!” John’s voice is a whine, and you roll your eyes and step in front of him.

“What he means to say is that he doesn’t think that a shrimp like you could take me.” The words are out of your mouth before you can even try to regret them. She advances like a prowling tiger. You can see the movement of her muscles under that big, baggy sweater of hers.

“Why don’t you say that to Mr. Pointy?”

“Is that what you named your bulge? Because that is a horrible name.” Her face is inches from yours now, she’s almost pressed up against your chest, and your chin is tilted downwards while hers is tilted upwards to glare at you.

“No, it’s the name of my knife.” Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_. There is the flat of a knife pressed against your side, chill of it spilling through your shirt, and you never even noticed her draw it. And suddenly you’re dripping wet, thighs pressed together beneath your skirt as you snarl down at her.

Completely without your say so, your claws are curled in the lank tufts of sweater at her hips, and you’re kissing her, prickling at her lips with the needles of your teeth, and the knife stays put, dangerously close to the delicate frill of gill, flushed full and tyrian with blood that edges outside one of your main gill covers, but she’s kissing you back. 

John’s over there gasping his head off, and making little squicked out noises like he’s watching a couple of sea cucumbers mating again, and you don’t care. You are far too busy pulling Jade as close as she’s pulling you, one of her hands pressing your gills flat to your neck so you glub and choke.

You’re pretty sure this is the hottest thing to ever happen to you.

Even hotter than the one time Eridan swam up on you masturbating, and you could see his bulge through his swim trunks.

Then, of course, there wasn’t a small crowd gathered together whooping and catcalling at you while you knead into Jade’s sweater, making her gasp, and consciously lower the noise into a snarl. Her hair smells slightly of dog, and you hate it, hate it, hate it, hate every last inch of this girl. The only thing to do is take her up to your respitesuite and fuck her senseless and untidy on every piece of furniture you poses.

“Your place or mine?” It seems she’s had the same idea as she rocks her hips against yours.

“Mine. It’s two floors up. You might have to jump to reach the elevator button.” Your claws draw carefully along the soft, warm skin of her flesh, and she whips her knife away and into its sheath in her boot before she reaches up and grabs you by one horn.

You cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as she tugs on it, pulling you out of the communal lounge and out to wait for the rickety old elevator, silently seething the entire time it takes to ding down to the third floor and shove you inside.

“You are so full of yourself, you think everything’s your playtoy.” She’s pushed the door closed button and is pressing you against the wall of the elevator.

“You’re so stiff that you’d probably loosen up if there was a stick up your ass,” you spit back, pushing so that you can pin her and slap the button for the fifth floor. You leer at her for good measure.

“God, you’re hot,” she breathes, and shoves her thigh between yours. You’re incredibly lucky that the elevator jerks to a halt when you shiver through your entire body, though she probably feels it anyway. 

You stride from the elevator before she has a chance to savage your horn again, and hurry to your door. It’s awkward, moving like this, thighs slicked and bulge flushed and ready beneath your skirt. When you look back at her while unlocking your door, there’s a smudge of royal tyrian fluid on the thigh of Jade’s light wash jeans.

When she passes you to get into your suite, you slap her ass loud enough to echo down the corridor. She yelps in the most delicious way.

Then the door is closed and locked behind you, and your back is pressed into the dark wood, Jade’s blunt human teeth hard against your throat while she bites. Really bites, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark you, hard enough that one strangely pointy little tooth draws a bead of blood from your throat. You roll your hips against her, desperate to feel every inch of skin the little human possesses pressed against you.

The knit of her sweater tears a little beneath your claws as you force the garment over her head, and quickly strip yourself of your shirt. It only catches a little on one horn. You don’t care. You drop it to the floor, anyway, and watch hungrily as Jade unfastens her bra.

You’re on her again in a second, kissing and biting at her shoulder, palming the weight of hot breasts, thumbing over the nipples that gain a gasp from Jade’s lips, and you pinch, hard.

She whimpers.

You moan. 

This is pure pitch, better than you had ever imagined, and her blood stains your teeth. 

Your bulge aches from being confined in your panties.

The knife is in her hand again before you can blink, and you put your hands into her hair and pull, really fucking _pull_ while she scores a single line with her blade across your shoulder so that blood flows, sluggish and nearly fuchsia in the low light down your shoulder. 

She doesn’t so much as blink when you throw the knife across the room and it sticks in the side of your recuperacoon. Even you’re impressed with yourself in the brief moment of triumph you allow yourself before whipping your skirt and underwear off to pool on the floor at your feet. Jade’s eyes are on you like glue, hungrily eyeing your bulge, your fins, your gills, every frill of your body.

She takes your hand with a strong hand, and pulls you quite literally to a chair and promptly shoves you into it. Barely a whimper comes out of her when you dig your claws into her hips and swoop them around to unfasten them and drag them down over the soft flesh of Jade’s hips before forcing the human girl to her knees. 

Obediently and with less malice than you expect, Jade opens her mouth and licks along the slick arch of your bulge. It’s nearly too much, the heat of her mouth, and you squirm into her mouth until she’s gagging and coughing, her eyes watering. It’s glubbing beautiful.

Never one to be bested, Harley hands come up and rake down your sides, scraping at your gills, and making you cry out and cram your bulge down her chute again. Those are definitely tears on her cheeks, glistening clear like diamonds, sweet saltwater against your tongue as you lick it from her face and pull her up to sit in your lap.

Her thighs are soft where they straddle your hips, where your fingers press into them, scoring long lines up her soft flesh to press your thumb along the soft curls where Jade’s legs meet, damp with her own arousal. When you tease across the soft little bud of what every website on human anatomy calls her clitoris, but you still think of as a tiny bulge, she moans higher than you’ve ever heard, and kisses you, pressing your head against the back of the armchair.

She hisses so beautifully when your fingers slip into her and she pulses around them, hotter than any living thing you’ve felt before, and you snarl into her ear, low and menacing and hopefully sexy. The shiver that racks through her hits you hard, as does her teeth sinking into the delicate tines of your ear.

They may be blunt, but they can still hurt. 

In your brief pained confusion, Jade pulls your fingers out of the wonderful heat of her dripping nook, and digs her fingers like claws into your wrists.

“So selfish, think everything revolves around you,” she murmurs, grabbing your bulge harder than anyone ever should, ever, and you cry out, writhing beneath her, the tip of your bulge seeking some kind of refuge.

“You disgust me, you and everything you stand for.” Your claws dig into her thighs, sharp prickles of bright red blood against her dark flesh.

“You think you’re so speci—ah!” You cry out as she leads the questing tip of your bulges to her nook, vagina, cunt, whatever anyone cares to call it, you don’t give a shit, not even half a shit, because the slick, hot space that you cram your entire bulge into spasms, muscles clutching at the oversensitive flesh. It feels way too fucking good to give a shit.

You’re too big for her, for her delicate, short little human frame, but besides the little growls and gasps she makes for you, there’s no complaint. Not when you lift her as easily as your book bag, not when you sink your teeth into one pretty, petite little shoulder, and certainly not when you press her back into the massive chair. Her legs just fall further stretched apart, soft thighs greedily drawing you in, even when a thrash of your bulge inside her makes Jade whine so delightfully.

It’s too tight inside her, and your nook aches, and you hate her for it, hate her for not being a troll, hate her for being so perfect, hate her for every little thing that she is, and fuck, does it feel good. You thrust against her, rutting like a human or a dog, and urge her short little pudgy fingers to your nook, teeth bared and growling the entire time that you guide her hand where you really want it and hold it there, hips rocking repeatedly against her as she gasps and whimpers.

She likes that, you can tell by the way she keens, so you stop until her fingers slip up into your nook. It’s not perfect, they’re too short and blunt, but _fuck_ are they hot, and they’re enough, enough to make you moan into her hair and thrust your bulge into her.

Everything is heat.

Everything is Jade fucking Harley.

She keens and claws at you, trying to rend your flesh when she comes, and you feel you’re never going to get used to someone coming dry like that, but she certainly enjoys it. 

Jade whines, overly sensitive, and that sound, that fucking little sound, it’s enough to make you come undone, and you don’t even think about bothering with a pail. She’s close enough to one, your little human kismesis, flooded with your genetic material and crying out your name, Feferi, Feferi, you fucking bitch, Feferi, dripping from her lips like jewels, and then you barely have the willpower to not just collapse on her and crush her, but you move, so that both of your hips rest in the chair as you pull your bulge from her, a fresh wash of your genetic material coursing down her thighs.

You both drift for a while, too sated and busy hanging onto each other to really think, until she nudges you enough that you look at her with heavy-lidded eyes before she bothers speaking.

“So, how was that story you were telling earlier going to end?” Her eyes shine limeblood green, and her cheeks are flushed. She’s still out of breath. Nothing about Jade Harley is in order, and she’s got a line of tyrian blood smeared across her jaw. You just laugh and pin her into the armchair and kiss her already kiss-flushed and bloody lips.


End file.
